El Mañana
by Solstice White
Summary: Collab with RomanticideToxicity. Bishop Mournway and Gillian Muerto are best friends, but when Bishop gets a tough case and drags the C.G.I artist into it; things spiral down into madness. Moriarty/OC; Sherlock/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Bishop Mournway**

I was out getting coffee for work when my phone rang, playing 'Helter Skelter' by the Beatles. I sighed, and silenced it, seeing it was from the other dipshit's I worked with. I quickly caught a cab and made it over to the alley where the crime was committed.

I was a detective. Not the best, I'm assured by a rather bitchy co-worker of my _Sally. _Some consulting detective was the _best_, a mysterious man named Sherlock Holmes. No one really spoke his name; he was almost like a living legend among them. He was mentioned with equal amounts of distain and respect; so I could only assume he was nothing short of spectacular.

The cabby slammed on his breaks and hot coffee splashed on me. My eyes flashed towards the mirror, anger bracing against my light green eyes. I threw my money at him, and hopped out of the car, making sure to slam the door. Fucking shitty cabbies. I was in the process of straightening my clothes when _Sally _walked up.

"Spill coffee on yourself?" She asked brightly, dark eyes drinking in the stain on my jacket.

I smiled tightly. "No Donovan, a dog attacked me." I bit back sarcastically, brushing past her to the crime scene. She followed me under the blue and white tape and into the dingy alley behind the bar.

"Looks like the thug got drunk and decided to mess with the detective; the two fought and killed each other." Anderson put in, his voice annoying and grading on the air. My lip curled in disgust and my eyes rolled over to find his.

"Did I ask for your opinion? No. So shut up, and let me see for myself." I said snappishly, brushing back my hair. I heard him sniff arrogantly, and I suppressed an eye roll just as Lestrade stepped in. My lips tightened as Anderson and Sally's eyes light up. They must've been sure the Lieutenant was going to side with them.

"Look, I have to have her look around. The kid was in a local gang, which means Detective Mournway handles it." He said, strong and neutral. He was basically saying he _had_ to have me here, and that Sally and Dickweed needed to play nice.

Sally shifted near her _friend_ Anderson while I walked over to the bodies. There were two males, both killed with a shot to the head. The angle of entry was consecutive to their respective heights…Both bodies were bruised, each bruise matched up with the other's fist. The clothes had no dirt stains, so they weren't dragged around after death. As I was looking at the young kid, I noticed he didn't have any other weapons on him. In fact, it surprised me. Kids like this, they're showy not smart. They've got switch blades, guns, brass knuckles; you name it.

This kid had nothing. His hoodie had stretched out pockets so he must've had them before he died. I wonder if he had any drug's on him.

The old man was likely intoxicated; the kid wouldn't have had the money to get hammered in a bar. Their blood alcohol levels would come back later…but the kid probably was sober. If he wasn't, he would've had a cut on his hand from mishandling the gun. It's an easy mistake to make when you're drunk and not holding the gun right.

I ran my hands threw my hair. This wasn't just a fucking cliché shootout between a cop and a street rat. I could feel it, under my skin, driving me to look for everything and anything.

My eyes scoured the walls, looking for every crack and crevice before finding a bullet hole. It was eye level with me, about 20 caliber.

I scowled, turning around to look at Lestrade, Anderson, and Sally. "First off, Anderson was completely wrong. This wasn't some shoot out bullshit between a cop and some gang member."

Anderson snorted, lip curling. He was just about to say something when I cut him off.

"Let me explain. Unless the kid had a personal vendetta against the policeman, he wouldn't have murdered him even if he was drunk. Kids like these are poor finger men. They're disposable, and they won't do anything unless they know they can win. Seeing as the officer was out of uniform and I'm assuming at the bar next door; he was buying drugs from the kid. This wasn't a hostile situation until a third party showed up." I said; eyes narrowing as I imagined the old man in a bar. There were witness's minutes before the murder.

"There was a third bullet, different caliber than the others shot into the wall about fifteen feet up. Dig it out, find me people who knew they kid; find the people who were at the bar last night. And. Do. Not. Leak. This. To. The. Press. Sure as shit it's going to scare away the third shooter; or corrupt the witnesses." I said, fixing all of them with a glare before walking back to the street. It felt like my nerve endings were on fire, like sandpaper was crawling under my skin. I crouched over the bodies again, digging out their iphones.

The screens were both cracked, but when clicked on there was only one thing on the screen.

_One bright day in the middle of the knight, two dead boys got up to fight. _**–M.** Number Blocked.

Whoever did this is brilliant. They left that bullet in the wall, I bet you, for fun. So we'd all get our knickers in a twist, running around trying to find out who did this.

I looked back at the bodies, frowning as I brushed my hair back. I had a lot of paper work ahead, that was for sure.

Sighing, I pulled out my phone, typing in a report. At least I could start on my phone.

I took a sip of my coffee, going over the details in my head. This crime was not personal. Possible serial killer, the murderer would be very intelligent. Narcissistic; very arrogant. I rubbed my neck, trying to ease the stress and unease.

I wanted to know who did this.

I looked back, glancing at Lestrade before walking down to the station, and sighed. The police chief was going to ride my ass if I didn't get along better with Anderson and Donovan. I couldn't help myself, they were obnoxious idiots. One was just a bitch. At least Lestrade was a nice guy, who knew what he was doing.

**Five Hours Later: Bishop Mournway**

It was a long fucking day, and I got nowhere. Absolutely fucking nowhere. I'd been extremely pissed off for the past five hours, interviewed every credible witness, and made Sally cry. Well, at least I had one thing going for me. I pulled out my phone, texting Gilly back. I was on my way back to the flat trying to put myself in a better mood.

_Hang out tomorrow maybe? Working on a case right now._ **Bishop**

_Sounds good to me, just let me know what time._ **Gilly**

I ran my hand through my hair again, walking out the door and onto the street. The curls were starting to fall out, and I'd lost most of the bobby pin's holding my hair in place. My brown hair was starting to escape the half up-half down thing I had going. I needed sleep, food, anything to distract me from the crime.

My phone beeped, alerting me to another text message.

_Frustrated?_ -**M.** Number blocked.

My surroundings disappeared as I honed in on the phone. My lip twitched as anger and anxiety flushed through me. It could be the murderer…

Well, only one way to find out.

_Murderer?_ I sent back. The next text came almost instantaneously.

_New to the Special Organized Crime force? Darling, you need to work on your people skills._ **–M.** Number blocked.

My brow's drew together in anger, and I silenced my phone. This was getting just a little bit too creepy for me. I looked down at my phone, seeing a new message before I turned it over and took out the battery. I smirked, pocketing it and hailing a cab.

Victory.

* * *

I was jolted out of sleep by my land line ringing. I snatched it up, slamming it to my ear.

"There's been another." Lestrade said, and I swore. Fuck. God damn it all. Shit.

"Be there in five." I grumbled, rolling off my bed and onto the floor. I quickly threw some clothes on, button up shirt and black slacks. I was out the door in seconds, not bothering with a jacket.

I walked onto the scene in the early dawn, ducking under the tape and walking straight to the scene. It was in another back alley, two bodies. One a security guard, the other, a kid. I brushed past Sally and Lestrade, I didn't have time for their bullshit theories.

This time the angle of the gun wounds were different, the police officer's gunshot wound wasn't matching up with the kids' height. In fact, the angle was more severe, going upwards which didn't make sense since the thug was taller than the cop. If the boy was taller than the cop, the gunshot wound would have been at a downward angle or straight on because of the way he would've pointed the gun.

That means we've got two killers. One who's smart enough to cover his tracks, and another one who is short, trying to pull of the first murderer's job. I smiled, looking through the rest of the evidence, finding their phones with the poem on it. ._ Two dead boys got up to fight. . .the deaf cop of the beat heard all that noise and came and shot those two dead boys?_

I was one step closer. It was possible that the killer no. 1 hired killer no. 2, thinking that it would either fuck with us, through us off, or deflect the attention from himself. So, we have one serial killer (who's height we now know) and another, smarter killer. He's not a serial killer, no. He's got experience killing, enough experience and intelligence-

"What are _you_ doing here freak?" Sally's voice sounded, much like an annoying siren, ruining my concentration. I sighed, and rubbed my face as frustration built in my chest.

"You're in over your heads; you need my help." A male voice replied. I spun around, seeing a tall man in a dark coat behind the blue tape.

I walked over, smiling, to Sally and Anderson. I turned to the handsome man.

"Can I help you?" I asked, sweetly, anger burning through me. The man's bright eyes narrowed, flickering over me almost dismissively.

"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. You need my help." He stated, like I was stupid. My eyes flashed over him, taking in everything.

"Oh _really_, hold that thought." I said as sarcastically as possible, turning to the two moron's and Lestrade. Lestrade wouldn't meet my eyes, while Sally and Anderson glared at the mystery man.

"Now, I want to know which one of you fucking coffee addict, doughnut eating morons leaked this to the fucking press!" I said, starting off sweetly before yelling, flinging the words at them like ammunition. "Then, I'll try and handle the six-foot-fucking-two inch tall fuck up you caused you imbeciles!" I roared, eyes blazing. Sally's lip curled in disgust.

"If you're looking for the murderer, that's him there. Freak did it." She started, before I cut her off, glaring at her viciously.

"First of all, you fuck-tard, Mr. Holmes is too tall to be the murderer. The angles from the gunshot wounds don't match his height; so why don't you just do us all a favor, and go the fuck away." I snarled, turning back to the bright-eyed problem I had. He was looking around, uninterested like a pouting child, but his eyes kept flicking back to where the bodies were. I

"And Mr. Holmes, I don't need your help. I do things by the books. You are not a _legal _detective or even part of the government, so why don't you go home before I have you arrested." I said quickly, looking him over before turning away to look at the crime scene, biting my lip and looking over the evidence again.

He muttered a few more words before leaving, and a sudden sniffle drew my attention to Sally. I made her cry again. Oh joy. Lestrade walked over, looking at my now messy and straight hair.

"I think you should take a break…you don't look very well." He started, dark eyes watching me with concern. I snorted.

"Whatever. I'm tired, and I'll be back tomorrow. Don't let Polly-Pissy-Pants or Dickweed mess anything up." I snapped, whipping out my phone and inserting the battery.

There were many new messages, all from **M.** I ignored them and rang Gilly. I needed someone to vent to before _I_ murdered someone. My phone vibrated, and I looked down. A new message.

_I've got you in a bind; haven't I?_ **–M. **Number Blocked. I felt my face harden and my anger rise.

"Who are you?" I snarled under my breath, glaring at my phone. It vibrated again.

_Moriarty._

**Gilly: Forty minutes later**

Gillian sat cross legged before Bishop, her hands cupping her warm cup of tea. Her eyes scanned the many photographs and notes that littered the floor and then returned to Bishop, who was staring at her with her intellectual pale green eyes.

"So?" Bishop asked curtly, her nails digging into the thin piece of paper she held in her hands. "What do you think?"

Gillian inhaled, cocking her head. "Well, I think it's more than obvious this guy wants to say a massive "fuck you" to the cops. I mean, two corpses, evidence of the third person left behind via the bullets, no prints on the bullets, no match to gun registration and messages to the police and you? This is overkill."

She paused, studying the images before her, "It was a tidy, clean killing, for the most part. It's like the third person set up the other two beforehand, like they were going to kill each other. Maybe they didn't shoot fast enough for the third's liking, maybe they made too much of a scene."

Bishop nodded along. This was nothing that hadn't already been figured out by her, but by listening to it being recounted, she could figure something new out, or Gilly could touch base on something she hadn't.

"Maybe the third intended for them both to die in any case. I mean, that freaky assed poem seems to say that they were both gonna be killed by the third person anyway._ Two dead boys got up to fight. . .the deaf cop of the beat heard all that noise and came and shot those two dead boys?"_

Gilly nodded to herself. "The poem isn't just coincidence, it's just showing off what's happened."

Looking back at the sheets, Gilly bit down on her lower lip. "So, do you know what happened with them?"

"You mean, was he buying or confiscating?" Bishop asked harshly, her eyes narrowing as her hand slammed down, clenching around a much stressed piece of paper . "The body speaks for itself."

"Buying, then." Gilly murmured. She shook her head. "But you guys found no money on the thug?"

Bishop's face scrunched with disgust. "None. After the guys went through his clothes and shit, they didn't find anything but a phone. They're hacking into it as we speak to see if they can find anything."

Gilly remained silent, dropping her head down to look at the photos again."So, you could find something on the phone?"

Bishop chuckled dryly. "If we're very fuckin' lucky. The clothes were disturbed around the pocket the phone was in."

"So they knew the killer? Or at least, the thug did."

"Apparently." Bishop scowled. "If the guy left the phone, it could be that he already wiped the sucker of anything useful."

"And you guys couldn't trace back the texts?"

"No," Bishop said. She was getting increasingly frustrated, and was beginning to twitch slightly in her impatience.

Gilly sighed, looking away from the pictures. They weren't tacky gory, and they made her stomach lurch somewhat. "Sorry, Bishop. I don't have anything to say you don't already know."

Bishop drummed her fingers on the floor impatiently. "It's fine. I just needed someone to vent on outside the workplace, you know? Not to mention see if my buddy can see anything I'm missing."

"I know, " Gilly smiled. "You'll figure this sucker out eventually, Bishop." She stretched, popping her back.

Bishop blew out a huff. "I know. It's just irritating me! It's like this guy's a criminal mastermind or some shit!"

Gilly gave a soft snort, smile widening. "Well, that would mean you have an archenemy. Like this Mr. Holmes you were telling me about."

Bishop's scowl only deepened at this. "He's not getting his ass on my crime scenes, I can tell you that now! I don't need any help from the man, and I work my shit by the book."

Gilly shrugged, running her hands back through her short hair. It stuck up in tufts, thick and white, for a few seconds before she fluffed and smoothed it slightly.

"You don't have to tell me that." She said simply. Bishop shrugged, getting to her feet and trampling her papers on the way to her sofa. After a second, Gilly followed suite, sighing.

"Well, I know I'm not gonna sleep well tonight."

"Then it's a good fuckin' job you're not on a big animation project at the minute."

"I'll drink to that." Gilly smirked.

"Bitch."

"You love me really."

"Whatever."

Gilly flipped her off neatly, stumbling to her feet. "Well, it's late." She said, looking out of the window. She drew the curtains and then turned around, grabbing her friend into a quick bear hug.

"See you later. Try to get some sleep tonight, 'kay? I can already tell you didn't get any last night."

"Oh my, however did you come across that _key_ piece of information?" Bishop called after her, rolling her eyes.

Gilly flashed her a grin as she buttoned up her long black coat. "I've known you since University, chick. You're always more bitchy when you haven't slept enough. And when you do sleep, you get bitchy just after you wake up. Hence, why I avoid you in the morning."

"Hey! I'm not that ba-" Bishop attempted to protest as the much used, familiar argument started up.

"Yes you are." Gilly replied, voice floating back from down the hallway.

"No-"

"Yup."

The sound of the door closing echoed in the finality of Gilly's statement, and she smiled to herself, just knowing that her friend was now moping on the couch, likely mumbling that she "wasn't that bad."

She started to walk down the street, her hands slipping into her pockets for warmth.

When she reached her house, she sighed softly and let herself in. She wandered into her hallway and stripped off her coat, hanging it neatly on its hook before she made her way to her living room, where her computer was awaiting. Turning it on, she pulled out the draw with the keyboard on it, and typed in her password.

Almost immediately her e-mail gave a soft pop, alerting her she had a message. Opening up the box, she frowned. She didn't know this person, and she was steadfast certain she hadn't added him. Moriarty? The name sounded familiar though.

She read the message and paled.

_One bright day in the middle of the night,_

_Two dead boys got up to fight._

_Side by side they faced one another, _

_drew out their swords and shot one another._

_The deaf cop on the beat heard all that noise,_

_and came and shot those two dead boys._

It's nice to meet you, Gillian.

M.

**Bishop: **

I was worried about Gilly. Who wouldn't be? Not to mention, Moriarty was up my ass. He hadn't stopped texting me since I left. I laid down, and was just shutting my eyes when my phone rang; playing it's customary tune. I huffed and threw the blankets off me violently, eyes blazing.

Who the fuck is disturbing my _second_ attempt at sleep?! I looked down at my phone.

**1 missed call: Gilly**

My eyes snapped open, and I was instantly awake. She never calls me unless there's an emergency.


	2. Chapter 2

**Gilly:**

She swallowed a few times, unable to control the shudders wracking at her spine. She shook her head, swallowing.

She fled from her computer to her coat, scrambling to retrieve her phone from her pocket. Her heart plummeted in her chest when she looked at the waiting message she'd heard arrive when she was at Bishop's and hadn't checked. It was the same message.

The killer had her phone number. The killer had her e-mail. The killer knew her name. The killer had sent her a. . . poem. The poem.

He knew that she knew.

Shakily closing off the text, she opened up her contact list and scrolled down to Bishop. Bishop had also received an text, hadn't she? How the fuck was Bishop so _calm _about this shit!

Gillian stopped, attempting to calm herself down. Bishop hadn't been calm, she realized suddenly. She'd been angry, furious. She'd been shaken, just like Gillian, except she'd had the opposite reaction. She'd been angry. Gillian had been, or rather was, freaking out.

She pressed the contact and pressed the phone against her ear. The moment it was answered with Bishop's traditional grunt, however, her throat closed up and gave out little panicked gasps.

"Bishop? Bishop, I gotta text and an e-mail from the killer! He knows who I am!" She whimpered.

Bishop, for her part, seemed instantly sharper. "Okay, I'm coming over."

The phone cut off and Gillian gave a distressed wail. Minutes later, the door burst open, startling Gilly, and one incredibly pissed off looking Bishop walked through the door.

She held out a plastic baggy. "Phone." She ordered. Gilly dropped it in, her hands shaking as they released the phone into the bag.

"I'll see if we can track any of yours but I doubt it. It'll have to go in as evidence, I'm afraid."

Gilly nodded, shaking. Bishop put the bag into her pocket.

"It's a good thing you have two," She said calmly. "Better check it, make you sure you didn't get anything on it."

Gilly swallowed, knowing that her phone would be staying there for a while.

"Okay," She whispered. She went upstairs while Bishop made her way into the kitchen, most likely to grab a cuppa.

"I'll call it in when I get in tomorrow. You aren't in immediate danger, and besides; I've decided that I'm staying here- if he knows that you know, that means there's some kind of surveillance in my house."

"But he may also have surveillance in my house," Gilly pointed out, her eyes widening with the prospect.

Bishop considered. "You are correct." She said thoughtfully, straining to keep a straight face as she continued, "You'll just have to get changed under a sheet."

Gilly gasped slightly, her eyes crinkling slightly as they narrowed. "It isn't funny!"

"For fucks sake," She said miserably. She sighed, running a hand through her hair. She froze suddenly. "I really hope he didn't put cameras in the bathroom or something."

"Nah. He's a killer, not a. . . " Bishop trailed off, falling slightly.

"Not a pedophile?" Gilly finished, raising a brow and gesturing loosely at her breasts. "I'm not exactly a little girl here, Bishop."

She paused and then shook her head. "Fuck this." She made her way to her hallway closet and riffled through it, grabbing a canvas bag.

"Gilly, it might not have even happened." Bishop said, although she herself doubted as much. Gilly was too much of a friend to have passed up putting cameras in her house.

"Well, now I'm too paranoid to stay here until the police come and look it over for cameras."

Bishop sighed, her green eyes half closed as she leant against the wall. "I'll call it in now. By morning, or tomorrow afternoon, they'll have given it a once over."

Gilly gave her a look. "Whatever. I'm just gonna grab my laptop, tablet, pyjamas and shit and stay in a hotel for the night."

Bishop nodded, sighing. She ran a hand through her thick brown hair and drug her lower lip back under her teeth.

"I think I'll join you in that."

"You do realize what this means, though. Somebody knows who would get a case like this, or already knew. It must have been a few days before the murder at the most."

Bishop gave her a well-wasn't-that-obvious look. "Yes, Gilly, I got that." She shrugged her shoulders. "It potentially means he wasn't watching you, though."

"He's watching you." Gilly was unable to stop herself from putting a creepy undercurrent to the offhand comment.

Bishop inclined her head. "Yeah. And when I find him I'm gonna string him up by his-"

"Yes, Bishop, I know. No need to finish."

Bishop glared around her, eyes narrowed. It was as though she was seeking out a camera just to affirm that the killer had or would hear her threat. If the cameras actually had volume, that was.

Gilly disappeared for a few moments, leaving Bishop to glare at random corners of her hallway while she prepared her stuff. She appeared minutes later, laptop bag slung across her shoulders and another back held in hand. Just big enough for a few clothes and whatnot.

Bishop gave the place a final glare. "I'm heading back home. I'm not gonna let this fucker get what he wants."

Gilly gave her a harassed look. "Well not all of us are used to the feeling of being watched."

Bishop's glare softened. "You know I didn't meant that." She sighed.

Gilly sighed, rubbing at her eyes. "Look, Bishop? I don't want to be in my house right now. I don't particularly want to be alone either." She stopped suddenly, giving her a tired look. "Bishop, why is he fucking with me? Seriously? I'm not a threat to him, and I don't know anything that can put his ass away. Why text me?"

Bishop's face hardened. "Because he likes fucking with people."

Gilly couldn't stop the slight smirk that drew across her face. "Well, Bishop, I don't imagine he likes fucking with animals."

Bishop snorted. "You never know."

Gilly shuddered. "I don't want to know."

Bishop hesitated. "He might be doing it because he knows you're my friend. I mean, texting you is basically him putting up his middle finger to me."

Gilly nodded. "Yeah. That's probably it." She paused. "Think we should give him the middle finger back somehow?"

Bishop grinned sagely, "Oh, there'll be plenty of time for that when we're running him down."

"Well, when _you're_ running him down, anyway." Gilly said, rolling her eyes. "I'm no copper."

"Nah. But you're my friend, Gilly. We can make it just a tad uncomfortable for him, even by the book."

Gilly smiled. "For putting me through the stress of being sent a freaky text message and e-mail and the fact I may or may not have cameras in my home, he deserves it." She sighed. "So long as we can find the fucker that is."

When they arrived at Bishop's (Bishop was going home, even if Gillian wasn't) they were somewhat surprised to see a tall, lean man standing on her doorstep, a pout on his lips and a frown furrowed between his brows. He had dark, curly hair that was cut above the nape of his neck and blue eyes that looked practically poisonous in their bright paleness.

"Detective," He greeted Bishop, who looked more than a little displeased to see him there. Gillian, uncertain of who the man was, drew back beside Bishop, looking at the man with slightly flushed cheeks. From the cold breeze that was brushing over the city, she assured herself.

"Mr. Holmes," Bishop replied curtly, her eyes sharpening to fix onto the man. It felt somewhat uncomfortable like a staring match she wasn't privy to, so Gilly started to retreat quietly. Mr. Holmes. She paused suddenly, her lips twitching. Wasn't that the guy that Bishop had ranted about earlier?

She resumed her retreat hastily when the man's eyes drifted towards her.

"Miss Muerto," He said suddenly.

Gilly trundled to an awkward stop, her eyes meeting his. A warm flush settled over her cheeks.

"How do you know her name?" Bishop bit out, taking a stride forward and into his personal space.

Sherlock took a step forward, forcing Bishop to back off a step in order to look back up at him.

"Miss Muerto is a CGI artist, an animator and an artist is general. Her works are well-known in the film and anime industry."

Gillian shrugged slightly, blushing. "Still, not many people know it. It's like asking someone about a short cameo of a director in a film- most people don't notice it."

Sherlock's lip curled. "I notice everything. That's precisely why Miss Mournway should have allowed me onto the crime scene to do my job."

Gillian looked down, biting her lip.

"It's not by the book," She mumbled, all too aware that her friend had not been going by the book when she had told her everything about the murder and even brought along pictures to complete the gory story.

Sherlock leaned down, into her, giving her a slow condescending smile. "It's not by the book to tell friends about it either."

Bishop released a silent gasp, her eyes narrowing in anger and Gillian felt her cheeks flame red.

"You bastard," Bishop spat.

He ignored her. "So, share with me, Miss Muerto, what happened. I can help."

"Gilly won't tell you a fuckin' thing, and she doesn't know a fuckin' thing! Right, Gilly?"

"Uh huh," Gilly agreed, unnerved by the anger her friend was displaying. "I'm, uh, gonna go now."

Bishop nodded, giving her a stout, "Goodbye," before she angrily returned to her house. She poked her head out the door a second later.

"And don't stalk my friend for information!" She slammed the door behind her.

"How do you know that I know?" Gilly asked quietly.

Sherlock leaned back slightly, and she scrambled back, shaking her head slightly.

"Obvious." He dismissed.

"Are the killer?"

**Bishop:**

Another murder. One more fucking pint of blood spilt, and the man was changing his tactics. Seems this, _Moriarty_ wanted to play a game. I hoped, prayed even, that Gilly was okay. She was like my sister; in fact, my own family meant less than her. She was my only friend and I'd be damned if any murderer was going to drag her into this. Hopefully, they'd be able to track down Moriarty from her phone; though in truth I doubted it.

Still, they'd get the cameras out of her house.

And I'd be damned if some tall dark and emotionless genius was going to stalk her for information. She didn't need that stress in her life.

_I_ needed to find this killer. It was driving me insane. After Gilly left, I couldn't sleep. I'd gotten another fucking phone call. The burning _need _that clawed through me like a storm. It hurt, burned and drove me.

I stormed down the streets, the gray light of morning against the dark buildings. I could practically feel my frustration bouncing off of the tall buildings.

I didn't say anything as I ducked under the tape to see the crime. In an alleyway; this time, it was a prostitute. Dressed up in red. She looked about fifteen, give or take. Her eyes were wide and afraid, making her seem even younger. But her figure begged to differ.

I stood over the body, staring into her wide, fear struck eyes. I took a deep breath and smelled old food. Old food? My eyes narrowed and I carefully looked around for it. I found it, picking it up. Someone was talking to me, but their words were lost. I couldn't even focus on their face, their identity because as soon as I picked up the basket of food I cried out, a harsh and strangled laugh escaping.

"Oh, he's fucking with us now. Any of this seem familiar nitwits?" I said, louder than intended. I didn't react as Anderson, Sally and Lestrade flinched; looking at me strangely. It took them a minute to look down at the body.

"Jack the Ripper?" Anderson asked, and my head whipped towards him. I frowned feeling annoyance harden my features.

"No Anderson. Little Red Riding Hood. Red, has food, taking the back way where no one else would go? The killer's just fucking with us now. It's all a god damn game. Whoever is doing this wants to be found now; god knows what the next crime's going to be." I blurted my words frantic and harsh as I surveyed the body.

She was shorter, for a girl. Not too short, just below average. She was underfed, but had managed to keep bigger hips. Her neck was bruised badly, but her mouth wasn't open…Which was strange... Usually, when you're strangled, you open your mouth instinctively to try and breathe. She could have been poisoned, and then strangled to distract us. I leaned down closer to the body, and took a deep breath.

As expected, I smelled antifreeze. It would be easy to poison someone with antifreeze; it tasted sweet, and because it was so widely used (for cars and such) couldn't be traced. It was a wise move...

"Do you think _he_ did this one? M?" Sally asked, and I nodded, crouching down and pointing at the strangulation marks. Then I looked back at the wall, my eyes searching out the bullet. I sighed, running my hands through my hair and biting my lip. This wasn't Moriarty. The strangulation was too messy; if it'd been Moriarty, the body wouldn't have been dumped.

My green eyes narrowed as I thought about it. "This was both. See how her mouth is closed, even though she has fresh strangulation marks? It means she didn't die from lack of oxygen. I think killer no. 1 poisoned her earlier last night. Killer no. 1 planned everything perfectly, or else the woman would've died from strangulation instead of the poison."

"Killer no. 2, remember, was shorter. Had smaller hands. This girl was strangled, but the bruises are smaller. Killer no. 1's hands would have also bruised her face. Do you understand?" I went on, making my voice softer and more compassionate.

All of them were staring at me, their faces laced with concern. I blinked. Had I done something wrong? Did I miss something because I was tired?

Sally sighed, her eyes searching my face.

"I think that maybe you should take a day off…" She suggested quietly, and my brows drew together in anger.

"Do I look like I need a day off?" I asked, keeping my voice cold. I felt anger and annoyance paint my features. Donovan shrugged, her eyes warm in her face.

"All I'm saying is that you look like you're getting in a bit too deep, yeah? I just think you could use a day off." She explained. I sniffed, turning on my heel.

"Fine. I'll take the rest of today off; but if anything _and I do mean anything_ happens call me." I said firmly, walking away from them. I didn't miss the sigh of relief they all heaved as I left.

My phone vibrated, and I stopped, checking it.

_Got that one right Angel._ **–M**

I felt a scowl pull at my lips. I stuffed my phone in my pocket, and headed to the nearest restaurant. There was no way in hell that I was messaging him back.

I needed to text Gilly though; just to make sure she was okay with Mr. Holmes. Who knows what that guy might do to her to get information.

I didn't think Sherlock Holmes was a murderer (unlike Sally and Anderson), in fact, I was pretty sure he wouldn't physically hurt Gilly at all. He might, though, aggravate her anxiety. I wasn't stupid, I knew that she was under a lot of stress. Sherlock Holmes would see that stress and exploit it until she told him what he wanted to know.

I looked down at my phone seeing another one from Moriarty.

My eyes widened, before narrowing.

_The man has a love for women, if you get my meaning. It was hard to keep him on track. _**–M.**

It was almost a casual remark.  
_I'm going to laugh in your face when you're behind bars. _I sent back, hailing a cab and hopping in and telling him my address.

_ I can't say the same for your friend, Gillian._ **–M.**

Anger flushed through me, and I grit my teeth. How fucking dare he go there. I sighed, sifting through my contacts to find her second number. I texted her quickly.

**Gilly:**

"Obviously not."

"So tell me how you know."

"Because best friends tell each other everything on their minds, unless it's exclusively private to them. You smell like Bishop's lunch, which means you were there earlier or had the same thing. I'm betting it wasn't the latter.

You look dazed and scrambled and somewhat paranoid and you have your bag. You're nervous. Possibly, you're naturally paranoid or she told you something that made you feel that way. You have your bag because you don't feel safe at home, and you don't want to be near the source of your subconscious paranoia." He paused, glancing at her pockets.

"Your phone is gone. Possibly Bishop took it away from you. Her pockets were heavy, both sides." He nodded to himself. "It's possible you two are in-"

"We're not. We're just old friends." Gilly said, blushing and cutting him off. He nodded again.

"Then you got a message." He glanced back at the house. "She's being watched and they know that you're her friend. It's possible there are cameras in both of your houses, which explains why you want to go to a hotel."

He pressed a hand against her shoulder and started walking, with Gilly subconsciously following him. She blinked suddenly, when she realized he'd just guided her towards a nearby pub/ restaurant.

"What are we-"

He merely gave her a quiet, "hush" noise, pushing her through the door. He ushered her to the bar and she took a seat unevenly, her eyes flicking back to him nervously.

"You do realize that you haven't discredited that you could be the killer." Gilly said nervously.

Sherlock shrugged it off impatiently. "I'm not the killer."

"Ah! Sherlock!" The bartender beamed. He was a portly man with an accent. He glanced at Gilly, who ducked her head, fidgeting with the buttons on her coat.

"Is she with you, Sherlock?" The bartender sounded slightly stunned.

"Yes." Sherlock glanced at her, seeming to mull something over for a minute before he ordered two pints of Strongbow Cider. The bartender set one before each of them.

"Well, lady, you got yourself a good man," The tender declared.

Gilly couldn't hide the blush that spread over her cheeks fast enough.

"He's not my boyfriend." She said, inhaling precariously. "He's pretty much my evening kidnapper." Her head snapped up suddenly. "Do you assume that every man and woman that come in here are together? Or just that he and anyone that comes in here is together?"

"Both. And sometimes he interjects people as being gay couples. They don't come back often," Sherlock interjected.

Gilly shook her head, smiling slightly. "Man, I can't wait until those assumptions go badly wrong."

Sherlock smiled again, that strange smile where only a side of his mouth seemed to twitch and pull out into a smile. "They have. Several times."

He pressed his hands against his pint of the strongbow, looking at her expectantly. Her own hands enclosed around her pint and she wondered idly how he knew she liked cider. She sipped it and set it down, subconsciously running her tongue over her wet lips.

"Have you eaten?" Sherlock asked, leaning into her. It was as though he was trying to ground her here for a while, plying her with drink and food.

She nodded, despite having not eaten since lunch, which had been almost eight hours ago.

"Yeah," She mumbled, realizing he was still looking at her. He raised his brow.

"No you haven't. Not since lunch, anyway."

She took another sip of her drink. "Doesn't matter. I'm not. . . hungry."

She was still trembling slightly from the incident that was but half an hour ago she saw when she set the glass down. She clenched her fists together awkwardly.

"Adrenaline," Sherlock noted.

She licked her lips again. "Um, Mr. Holmes-"

"Sherlock."

"Yes, um, Sherlock, I'm not as stupid as I probably look to you, but I do realise what you're playing at."

Sherlock nodded slightly. He seemed agitated, thrumming his fingers against the edge of the table.

"Really?" he sounded bored, Gilly realized. She looked him over. He was like the living picture of bored, found in the dictionary beneath the word and next to the definition. He just wanted the information she had. She bit her lip anxiously.

"Really. You just want the information on the case, and it's information I won't give out."

Reaching into her pocket, Gilly retrieved her wallet and retrieved the money for the pint of strongbow. Sliding the wallet back into her pocket, she realized that Sherlock was now focusing on her wholly, his eyes sharpening.

"Stay," He said simply. "At least for the drink."

Gilly hesitated but sat back down, avoiding his gaze. "There's nothing I can give you."

She licked her lips again, picking up her glass. She smelled the apple cider as she drank down another swallow. She wiped her mouth and crossed her legs, coat falling over the side of her thigh and swinging back against the stool.

There was a slow sounding_ pop_ and for a moment Gilly glanced around warily. Sherlock dipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone, opening up a message. His eyes scanned it and he tucked his phone back away.

He leant into her, eyes darkening. She swallowed and shifted back in her chair.

"What does the name Moriarty mean to you?" He asked, his voice resonating in his deep pitch.

Gilly swallowed, her eyes narrowing. "Why?" She whispered.

"Because he knows who you are. And that means he's a part of the case."

She rose unsteadily to her feet, feeling the three-quarters of the pint she'd drank swirl in her stomach. She felt queasy. She turned around and started to walk out, leaving the money on the counter. Sherlock followed her, his long strides easily keeping up with her short ones.

"Leave me alone," She said, slightly breathless, panic boiling in her stomach.

"I can't." He grabbed at her arms, spinning her around and pushing her back against a wall. His hands pinned her shoulders to the wall and he glared down at her.

"You stupid, worthless girl!" He spat. "You have to tell me!"

"Sherlock!" A male voice echoed down the road. Whimpering with panic, Gilly bolted the moment he turned, loosing his grip slightly. His hands clenched however, and he pulled her bag sharply with a tug of her coat.

A man with a limp staggered up the road, Gilly catching quick glimpses of his appearance as she struggled.

"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?" The voice rose. Gilly twisted in his grasp, desperate to free herself.

"Get off me!" She cried, "I swear to god, Bishop'll have your ass for this!"

"Sherlock!"

"John, she knows about the case!" Sherlock snapped.

"Sherlock," John said, clearly attempting to keep a calm, muted tone, "Let her go."

"But-"

_"Now."_

Sherlock released her. Since she'd still been struggling, she ended up strung out on her knees. Staggering to her feet, she was exceedingly pleased that she had chosen to wear jeans today. Well, she wore them all the time_ anyway_, but still. The thought was there.

She glanced back, moving slowly, eyes rabbit like in their intent to watch. When he moved forward she bolted, bags flying around her. She made her way to the nearest hotel and booked a room, making her way into the elevator and up to her floor. Stalking into her room, she locked the door behind her.

She looked down at her wet, dirty jeans and heard herself release a soft whine in the back of her throat. Tears of shock spurted down her cheeks and she staggered to the bathroom, stepping into the shower. She shivered as a warm spray of water ran the back of her spine.

Exhaustion ate away at her bones and she released a low yawn. She stepped out of the shower what felt like hours later, head heavy and thoughts foggy.

She changed into her pajamas before heading towards the bed. The sheets smelt clean, but she didn't dare sleep under them. She lay on top, switched the lamp off and then curled up into a ball, struggling to make herself in. Several times she had to turn the lamp back on as dark hands and claws reached out in the darkness as her imagination went into overdrive.

Eventually, head spinning, she fell into an uneasy sleep that bordered on consciousness.

She woke up slowly, blearily opening her eyes. For a few minutes, her mind was too fogged over to remember what had happened last night. When it cleared, she sucked down a sharp breath, dismissing the ache that whined through her bones when she moved out of her fetal position.

She rubbed her hands against her sides and then down to her knees, looking at the grazed surface. She poked at it gently, hissing with pain. Sighing, she rose to her feet and padded to her overnight bag, dragging out her spare clothes. She changed into her clothes quickly, shrugging into her coat.

She packed her clothes, running her thumbs over her skinned jeans. Finally, she zipped up the bag and slung it over her shoulder. Room Service knocked at her door, startling her. She called a quiet, "Come in!" absently running her hands back through her fluffed up hair.

The door swung open suddenly, in a confidant manner, and a large as life Sherlock Holmes stalked through it, the smaller man from the previous night following him in a doe-like manner, limping slightly. He gave her a weary look.

"I'm sorry about this. He's just not the kind to let go of a juicy bone."

Gilly moved slowly, shifting her weight so she naturally drifted towards the door. Sherlock, however, gave her an amused look. "Miss Muerto, I-"

"Gilly!" Gilly interrupted briefly. He acknowledged this with a slight nod and then strode over, leaning back against the doors. He slid his hand inside his pocket and tossed his phone to her. Gilly caught it, stooping slightly. Straightening up, she gave him a look.

"Check the messages."

Gilly glanced down, opening up the right message segment of the phone. She found a list of messages between those from "John" and "Molly" and various others from an unknown subject. She opened them, flinching slightly when she caught sight of, "Moriarty" at the end of each of them. The messages varied from teasing, to threatening, to gloating about stuff he'd done. She caught sight of a few cases she herself had watched through via the T.V.

She sat down, biting her lip anxiously. It was possible that he had sent them to himself, from another phone.

John sighed. "Unfortunately, he isn't nuts. Well," John checked himself, "Not much. Moriarty is big player on Sherlock's chessboard, the other King, if you will. Most crimes around here is organized or planned by Moriarty."

"How do you know that he doesn't send them to himself?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, tapping his fingers against the door.

John gave a slight smile. "I trust him. And I've been with him, on cases. If you saw him then, you'd know it wasn't him, too."

Gilly raised a brow. "Or he could have a hero complex?" She pointed out. However, she felt less sure of herself than she had.

John rolled his eyes, "You have an answer for everything, don't you?" He frowned slightly. "Wait, if you deleted that the earth goes around the sun, why did you keep memory of her?"

"John, there was a CGI documentary on only a fortnight ago and Mycroft told me that she was one of Mournway's close friends. I kept it because it could have been useful, and right now, it is being useful."

Through all the weird conversation, Gilly was only able to pluck out one thing; he deleted that the earth goes around the sun? What the fuck?

**Bishop:**

Again, I was in the middle of a wonderful dream where I was about to get laid (with a beautiful Brazilian man...) when my phone woke me up. Am I EVER going to get some fucking sleep?!

I looked down at my evil phone to see that Gilly had texted me back.

I scanned the message quickly before springing out of bed to get my jacket. The idea that I was still in pajamas meant absolutely nothing. Fine, if Mr. Holmes wanted to be a selfish brat, I'd fucking tattle on him.

I quickly punched Mycroft's number into my phone and called him. As expected, it went to voicemail. The asshole probably knew what was going on and decided to ignore my call. Or maybe he was asleep; in all honesty, I couldn't care less.

"Mycroft Holmes, I am going to murder your brother." I snarled, hanging up and heading over to Gilly's hotel room. Once I made sure she was alright, I was going to seriously rip Sherlock a new one.


	3. Chapter 3

**Gilly:**

Gilly walked slowly around the room, saying nothing and listening to John grumble about something. A few times she caught him rubbing his leg as though it was pained.

Sherlock simply stood there like a disgruntled merchant, pouting slightly and giving her a glare. Further away from him, as in, not in his immediate vicinity with him leaning down into her face, she almost found it humorous.

It was the kind of pout you'd expect to find on a little kid, and it made her want to smile (and if he was small enough) ruffle his curls. The thought of a scowling Little Sherlock made her want to giggle. She bet he'd been a little cutie as a kid.

She drifted past the door, watching him watching her. It didn't matter whether she believed him or not, she wasn't about to roll over and play ball with him. She'd either outwait him, or she'd wait for an opening to appear. Perhaps he'd get too bored and end up leaving. She certainly hoped so.

Her phone gave a soft bleep and she dipped her hand towards where her pocket usually was. She stopped, rolling her eyes at her own stupidity. She started over to her bag and riffled through it before Sherlock, who had started towards her phone, could.

She retrieved it and unlocked it, biting her lip subconsciously as she opened the unidentified (But more than likely Moriarty) message.

_Little Red should know better than to lie with wolves, don't you agree, love? _

"What did he say?" Holmes asked lazily, leaning in to see. She covered the phone with her hand and he scowled.

"Fuck you," She hissed back, her eyes narrowing. She moved back suddenly and darted to the door, leaving her bag behind. Sherlock, with his longer arms, darted forward behind her and shoved the door to while he grabbed an arm around her waist. She hollered loudly, screaming several swears in Japanese and English.

"Let me go," she howled. Sherlock stooped down, forcing her down to the ground, and picked up her phone from the ground. She struggled and yowled from beneath his knee, which he'd leant down onto her back to prevent her from crawling away.

He read the message with a calm expression.

"Get the fuck off my phone!" She yowled.

He scowled, "There are only two messages on here. And both of them are simply to taunt you."

"Wonderful," Gilly spat, "Now put my phone down and-" Her sentance turned into a low gasp and grumble noise as his knee pushed down to the point where it became unbearably uncomfortable, owing to the fact that her breath was being pushed out from her lungs. She whined weakly, wriggling.

"Sherlock" John was beginning to sound distressed and parent like. He reminded Gilly of a parent telling their child off for picking up a frog or something.

A rapid knocking sounded at the door, "Gilly! Gilly!" Bishop's voice sounded, harsh with anger.

"Sherlock" John began, warningly.

"Help" Gilly mewled, her vision blurring.

"Sherlock, let her up, she's gonna-"

"I know." Sherlock relinquished his hold over her and she sucked in dizzying breaths.

"Gilly!" Bishop shouted through the door, hammering at it with her fists.

Gilly, shaken and trembling slightly, staggered to her feet. The door opened and Gilly all but collapsed onto the woman. Bishop braced herself instinctively, bearing Gillian's weight against her slender frame.

"Gilly?"

Gilly shook herself, trying to shake the dizziness from her head.

"I'm alright," She managed to say. "I just wanna go home."

Bishop gave the two men behind her an enraged look. "What the hell-"

Gilly shook her head. Sherlock started forward, a half pout/ half scowl impressed over his expression.

"You get yourself back there!" Bishop snarled, throwing a protective arm around Gilly's shoulders, startling Gilly.

"It's alright," Gilly murmured, almost comforting herself, brushing her hand back through her hair and slucing back the awkward spikes and tufts. Her heart was beating unsteadily in her chest and she felt shaken.

John gave her an awkward look, "Sorry," He said.

Bishop looked ready to rip him a new one. Gilly, still in her pajamas, turned to Bishop.

"Thanks for coming, Bishop."

"No problem."

John reached back and passed her her bag. She took it and then reached out a hand towards Sherlock.

"You have my work phone," She reminded him. A look of understanding passed over his face.

Bishop's scowl deepened and she opened her mouth, only to be made quiet by Gilly squeezing her arm gently and hushing her as she received her phone back.

"Ah, of course," He breathed, eyes glittering brightly, "The messages are on your other phone."

Gilly shook her head. "No. I gave Bishop my phone after the first message."

"It wouldn't have taken him that long to get your work phone number." Sherlock said, sounding bored now. He was like a lazy tiger, stalking towards her slowly with the intent to tear her to shreds.

"He has your e-mail, doesn't he?"

"It's none of your business." Gilly said, moving back instinctively and hugging her bag to her chest.

"Oh, I disagree" Sherlock said, her voice deepening subtly and hoarsening slightly in a manner that made her feel small and. . . breakable. "You've become a part of the game, Gilly."

"Shut up!" Bishop snarled, "Leave her out of this!"

"Leave me alone" She said, biting back a swallow as he leant down and she automatically moved back.

With that, she started to walk away, padding down the hallway in her pygamas. She put her shoes on while she was in the elevator, all too aware there was not enough time in the elevators descent to change. Bishop followed her in, retying her hair back into its messy ponytail.

Besides, the looks she was getting was quite humorous, she found, as she signed out of the hotel.

"I need a dog," She mumbled, her head turning slightly to look over her shoulder. A very irritated looking Sherlock glared back at her, with John firmly not letting him go after her. "A really big one."

Bishop gave a snort of amusement. "Wait till Christmas."

She'd forgotten that her house was due to be raided today. It was later than she had thought, and her house was currently being ransacked by the police. Bishop strode forward towards the house, tapping someone's shoulder and beginning to talk to them, getting the low down.

"Bishop" She called. Bishop turned, a scowl easing from her face. She glanced over Gilly, a brow cocked in a jaunty frustrated kind of way.

"You didn't tell him anything, did you?"

"No," Gilly said back, shaking her head. "But he won't leave me alone and neither will Moriarty."

She sighed, leaning into her friend and grabbing her into a hug.

"Have they found anything?" She asked, closing her eyes as she pressed her face into her friends black jacket.

"Yes," Bishop said, voice turning curt. She squeezed Gillian slightly in a hug before letting her go.

Gillian shuddered slightly. "How many?"

"Not many," Bishop replied testily. "One in the hallway, two in the living room and two dining room, one in the kitchen." she gave an irate noise, "One in the bedroom. None in the bathroom."

Gilly gave a low wounded noise in the back of her throat. "Well, there's one small mercy. I only wish there had been another one."

Bishop just nodded, tapping her foot in an agitated manner against the floor. Gilly sighed softly.

"Is there nothing you can do about Sherlock?"

Bishop scowled, "Oh, there's a lot I'd like to do about Sherlock. The arrogant bloody prick."

She shook herself like a pissed cat. "But I doubt he'd stay away even with a court order on his ass. It's pointless."

Gilly nodded slightly, "Yeah. Yeah, okay." She gave a small sigh.

Bishop patted her back. "They'll be done in a few minutes, and then you can go in, alright?"

"D'you wanna hang out with me?" Gilly asked.

"I'm working."

Gilly nodded, blushing slightly," Oh yeah."

"I'll stop by later though," Bishop added.

Gilly guiltily considered the message she'd received earlier. _Was she Little Red? Or was Little Red someone else?_

She frowned, for a moment imagining herself wearing the long red cloak and approaching her grandmother, basket of bread and wine slung over her elbow.

_Why Grandma. . . what big teeth you have. _

She shook herself from her gruesome daydream as her grandmother (or nanna, as she preferred to be called) peeled back her upper lip, revealing stark white, needle sharp teeth.

"Well, I'll see you later then," Gilly said, watching as the police exited her flat.

Bishop grunted, already starting to walk away. _It's probably a good thing I'm so used to Bishop being the way she is, _Gilly thought, watching her leave. _Otherwise, I might have been hurt by such callous behavior. _

She waited for the last few police to disperse while a rookie handed her house keys to her.

"Thanks," she muttered before making her way inside. Outside, it was beginning to rain

**Bishop:**

Everything was a mess. A second 'Red Riding Hood Murder' with the same mark on the wall. This time, it wasn't some prostitute with food, it was an old grandmother and her son. Something has changed; the first crimes weren't meant to be for the police…no. Because the first crimes were an insolvable puzzle, and the poem was meant for someone else. Sherlock, probably.

Then the game changed. I wouldn't let Sherlock on the scene, and that made me a new player. Then I told Gilly…

My eyes shut as the billions of thoughts raced through my head. If it was ever a time to fall off the wagon, Bishop, it's not now…

I opened my eyes and forced myself to _think_. Nothing would happen to Gilly. Sherlock was the least of my concerns; he was a good man at heart I'm sure. From what I've read he likes to play the hero; and he probably would be if he didn't treat everyone around him like shit. IF he did lay another hand (or knee) on her without her permission there would be hell to pay.

I looked at the cold body of the old woman, her eyes open and staring at the red basket and walked over to her. I shut her eyes carefully. I went to go look at the sons body, spouting off details and pointing out things to the intern that followed me.

Some guy named Jim. He was much too talkative, and touchy. If he fucking brushed my back or arm one more fucking time I was going to skin him alive. I'm pretty sure I'd already threatened him with death twice.

"And you're sure it's poison? What if someone injected her with something? Or what if she died from old age?" He said, asking yet ANOTHER question. I tried to swallow my anger and annoyance.

"Yes, there were no injection wounds near any arteries. There was no sign of struggle or alarm on the bodies, they died quietly, doing their usual routine. Second, there is a forgien smell on both of the bodies as well as discoloration in the veins around the eyes; suggesting poisoning instead of heart failure." I said calmly, though I was really trying to prevent myself from killing this very annoying intern. Why did I even have an intern in the first place?

Cause Sally didn't want him. So I got the dark eyed all too happy man. I turned around to see him smiling giddily. I scowled.

"Are you high?" I asked carefully. The smile didn't fade, like I had hoped it would. There was something so very annoying about people who were constantly happy and smiling at a crime scenes. We are looking at dead bodies, we are not at a wedding, so stop fucking smiling.

"No, do I look like I am?" He countered innocently. My eyes narrowed, looking him over one more time before turning away and walking through the halls.

"Yes, so stop smiling. There is nothing remotely happy about a crime scene." I reprimanded. He laughed, which graded on my nerves even more.

"But I get to shadow you! How is that not fantastic?" He countered just as fucking happy as before. I walked past Lestrade, catching his attention.

"I need to go out and take a break. Have fun with the fucking intern." I said, walking out of the house.

Just as the door closed I thought I heard him say, "What intern?" but I must've been imagining it. That or the bloody leech had stuck himself to another police officer.

I was walking down the side walk when a black car pulled up beside me. The window rolled down, showing a pretty woman's face.

"Get in." She ordered quietly. I raised an eyebrow; I could take her in a fight, I'm sure.

"Give me one reason why I should." I prompted, stepping back and crossing my arms.

"Mycroft Holmes."

I glared and got into the car, saying nothing the whole ride. I wondered if this was about the voice message I left him about killing his brother. Probably not, the two were much more alike than either of them would like to admit. I met Mycroft Holmes once when I had brought some gang members in. He was interrogating some prisoner, or trying to, at the time while I was on my way to get promoted by the chief.

I remember what he asked me. "Ms. Mournway, would you agree that sacrifices always have to be made?"

I blinked, surprised by the man who 'ran' the British government. I hadn't realized I was important enough for him to know my name; or even ask me questions. Usually mere mortals like me where ignored by Mr. Holmes. "It depends on the situation; but I'd cut off a finger to save a limb, so to speak."

"You're doing quite well in your new position; much better than an urban police officer." He commented, almost snidely. "Seeing as you weren't really equipped to deal with…urban disputes."

"If you mean taking incorrect orders from inept old men than you are correct." I admitted carefully, keeping my speech tailored. His back was to me.

Finally the car stopped, in some parking garage. I got out and ran and hand through my curls, which were falling flat as usual and straightened my clothes.

Mycroft was standing in front of me, hands on his walking stick, looking as regal as ever.

"Ms. Mournway, I see you haven't changed much. Still letting your anger and frustration get the better of you." He spoke, voice snide as he gestured to my clothes. I held back a snort.

"You're probably wondering why you're here," He went on, "It has to do with my little brother you see."

My eyes narrowed. "You need to keep him on a shorter leash, or he's going to get arrested." I warned, and Mycroft sighed.

"My little brother and I have come to a disagreement… and he won't listen to me anymore." He admitted softly, inspecting his cane. I raised an eyebrow.

"Sherlock Holmes doesn't strike me as the type to listen to _anyone_, much less his older sibling." I added on.

"He is in danger." Mycroft said sternly. My lips tightened.

"So is my friend." I stated pointedly. "But he didn't care about that when he shoved his knee into her kidney trying to get information."

"I deeply regret my brother's actions, but I'm sure you've already figured out that he's not a 'people person'. I'm willing to pay you handsomely for your cooperation." Mycroft went on.

"What's he in danger from?" I asked, though the answer seemed to linger unspoken in the room.

Moriarty.

"We both know who, Ms. Mournway; he is in much more danger than your friend, Ms. Muerto. The man seems to have a very twisted fascination with my brother and I'm worried about him." He drawled quietly. My lips thinned.

"And you would have me, what? Watch over him like a dog? I have a job and I'm not some guard. And isn't Dr. Watson already there? Besides, I do not hand out information. God can damn us all to hell before I give away anything like that." I spat back.

"All I am asking you to do, is if anything about him comes up in a crime scene, or if there are any threats, make sure he's safe. I don't care if you arrest him or tie him up yourself. I will make sure that Ms. Muerto will have the best protection," He went on and my eyes narrowed.

"Why not give your brother the 'best' protection?" I shot back, though a dozen alarms were ringing in my head. Why does your brother need protection from me? Why should I help your brother when he terrorized my friend? Why do I care?

"He doesn't want it, and he knows how to dodge them too well." Mycroft admitted after a silence. I sighed.

"Why didn't you ask someone else?" I asked gruffly, looking up at the man. He frowned, his face pinched.

"He won't expect you to be looking out for him; he knows that you detest him." Holmes answered. I weighed the options. I could let him fend for himself, or help him and get protection for Gilly. I myself was fine.

I'd been through shit before, and I knew how to handle it. Gilly, she handled things differently. It's like her brain couldn't process the stress of the situations, it would breakdown. If she could be protected, maybe she'd be affected by those texts and emails a little less. I sighed, running my hand through my hair one last time before looking up at Mycroft Holmes. My face was drawn and stern.

"I don't want you money. I want every cent put into Gillian's protection. And I won't be telling you if he's in danger, I'll just make sure to look out for him. Go get someone else to spill their shit, because it's not going to be me." I stated and Mr. Holmes' face relaxed. He looked ages older.

"I'm glad we could come to this…agreement then. I'm sure they'll be missing you at the crime scene…" He drawled, waving me off. I got back in the car and we rode back to London.

My phone vibrated and I scanned the message, keeping the phone close to me. The woman beside me didn't seem to notice.

_Guess who?_ **–M.**

I rolled my eyes and though about the crime scene. It was clean cut, almost surgical; yet there was a rhythmic pattern in the way the basket was placed; the son and the grandmother died. Everything was fluid and there were no mistakes. The other murderer was bloody; he enjoyed killing rather than the 'game' we all seemed to be playing.

_You._ I sent back.

_Very good Bishop, very good. I see you've met the Holmes brothers, tell me, do they put a bad taste in your mouth? Saying they're doing 'the right thing' yet breaking everyone in their way?_ **–M.**

My lips pulled back in a snarl. _Coming from a murderer? Tell me, do you try and manipulate all the detectives, or is it just me?_

_ I like playing games Bishop, but it's especially fun to play against you. So morally righteous, not letting Sherlock even enter your first crime scene. Or maybe it's pride?_** –M.**

I didn't respond, and the next message came minutes later.

_Darling, it's going to be funny watching the world burn around you._** –M.**

_ I'll make sure to laugh in your face when you're behind bars. _I sent, before getting out of the car and going back into the crime scene. The annoying as hell intern was still there with his annoying notepad waiting for me. I ran my hand through my hair again, grit my teeth and looked over the crime scene once more.

An hour later, my phone rang.

"Bishop here," I answered, waiting.

* * *

So this is RomanticideToxicity's and I's collab. I'm having a lot of fun writing it, and her character Gilly is just awesome. Hope you liked it, please review! You should check out her other stories, they're friggin awesome.


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